Narcissa
by Sasparilla
Summary: Narcissa? Oh, you mean Lucius Malfoy's wife? Draco's mother? Yes, well, I don't know what to say about her. She's a woman. She's gorgeous. What? Who cares about her thoughts? She's just Malfoy's playtoy. No? Oh.
1. Chapter One

_*~mystikalolo~*_

**Disclaimer:** _The purpose of a disclaimer is to tell a reader who is the owner of what. However, there are some things that you know, without being told. This should be one of them. You know what J.K. Rowling owns. What she doesn't own, and what WB does not own… I do own._

This story does not follow OotP perfectly. Firstly, although it says that Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa were all Sirius's cousins, I am changing it to 3rd cousins. And Narcissa Black will _not_ be a true Black. She will be a girl adopted from a pureblooded family that is not known to the Blacks, at the age of 10. And she knows that she was adopted, but tries not to mention it often, as the Blacks don't appreciate that. She also knows who was her true family, but would never mention that to the Blacks.

"Life? It's easy enough. Living? Now, that's a different matter" 

**Chapter One (1)**

She was 34, and looked like she was 21. Silver-blonde hair and the iciest blue eyes one had seen. High cheekbones, pale skin, cheeks aglow with the faintest tinge of pink. Cold pink. Even her cheeks looked chilling. Dark black, curling lashes and full cherry lips. A stature of 5' 7" and a figure that was big, small, curvy, and slim in all the right places. A fashion sense to rival that of Hogwarts renowned Lily Evans, and intelligence that _also_ rivalled her.

Lucius Malfoy: husband of 15 years

Draco Malfoy: son for 15 years

124 Gremmotwolle Lane; Malfoy Manor: home for 15 years

Malfoy Manor Staff of Servants (Package including House-elves): Hired help of 15 years

Look breathtaking, act charming, be a Housewife doll: Job of 15 years

Narcissa Lucille _Potter_ Black Malfoy, was a deep woman, who'd witnessed a world of pain, torture, and inhumanity in her life. She bore the names of three of the most _respected_ pureblooded families in the British Wizarding World. However, nobody except four people knew all _three_. And one of them was Narcissa, herself.

She lived in Malfoy Manor. She had no job position. Lucius did not approve of wives, or for that matter, _women_ in general, working. He believed they should stay at home and take care of the family, the house, and home life in general. In other words, Lucius expected his wife to be what muggles called a Barbie doll. A dull, but pretty woman. Always smiling to the right people. Always getting rid of the wrong ones. Always there to be that gorgeous jewel of a wife, ready to be the picture of perfection for any Social Gala, Social Function, Social Festival, Social Get-together. Notice social to be the key word. Social and Public Narcissa was different than Personal and Private Narcissa.

No one ever saw the private Narcissa. She, herself, did not know what kind of Narcissa that was exactly. At least, she did not remember.

Narcissa rose from her bed. Her own bed. In her own apartments, in the mansion. How, Lucius had ever granted such a thing was beyond her. But the excuse that he had given her was; she'd grown rusty, less passionate, boring, week, and useless. So he went to his many other women. Bitches if you like. Yes, he had at least twenty. He said it, "gives me variety. Sexual activity is quite useless until you have some difference to spice it up. And I am quite an energetic man, my dear. One woman a night is not enough." When he'd told her that then, all she'd murmured was a, "Yes, dear."

But she'd been sickened to the soul by this confession of his. And it was what had led her to plead the case of having her own bed. She wouldn't bother him that way, she'd said. And he may even bring up women to his own apartments instead of going down to theirs. It had been quite an interesting prospect to Lucius, and so he'd accepted.

Of course, she was required to come to his apartments once in a year quarter, to make love to him. It was not asked, but commanded. And she had to obey. She was, after all, just another one of his toys. She just had a bit more power than the other playthings.

Narcissa took a bath. Hair wrapped in a towel, she sat in front of her vanity set. A beautiful masterpiece in Cherry wood. She softly brought down her gold brush through her silver locks. She straightened her hair. Lucius did not like the natural vivaciously curly hair. It looked too warm and soft. She dipped her brush into Sleakeesy potion, and brushed her hair into a low plait. Not one hair out of place, and looking much older than was natural for her. She brought out her red blush and put a thin coat over her cheeks. Blood-red lipstick went over her lips. Lucius liked a lot of red. So much red looked blood chilling. And of course red was one of the two colours of Lord Voldemort, the other being black.

Narcissa straightened her thick, curling lashes, and applied a blonde colour to them. Lucius said that such black waving, deep lashes were not proper for the _34-year-old_ wife of a most renowned wizard, such as himself.

Narcissa did not need any other make up, because of her flawless beauty, so she moved onto clothing. Taking off her robe, and standing in nothing but a thin lacy white bra, and a thin, lacy cream pantie, she disappeared into her wardrobe room. And room was certainly the right word. She was about to touch one of her robes, when she hastily went back to her bedroom and quickly put her robe on again.

She did not want to be found out in only a bra and pantie, if Lucius suddenly walked in. She shuddered, as she remembered such a thing happening, only a month ago. He'd slipped in somehow when she was standing almost nude in her wardrobe room, among hundreds of clothing articles. And he unbuckled and slipped his hands in—oh, it was disgusting! Why, it would have been rape but for the fact, that she was married to him. The man was not gentle, but forceful and unforgiving. Tantalizingly magnificent to some, but a horrible setback for herself.

Narcissa quickly picked out a robe of sheer black silk. It had a black hippogriff-leather belt, with a ruby buckle on it. Narcissa hated wearing animal skin. She hated any cruelty to animals, and was herself a vegetarian. But she could not tell Lucius that. He'd laugh at her openly in his cruel, dangerous manner.

She sat at her vanity set and did her weekly ritual of painting her nails blood red, and shaping the nail pointedly at top. She put black pearls on her ears, a gold thread of rubies on her neck, and her indoor day shoes, black with a red outline of an M. For Malfoy.

Finally, fully dressed, she walked out the door of her room and out of the door exiting from her personal apartments. She slowly and gracefully walked into the Morning parlour. There sat Mister Lucius Malfoy, himself. He had a cup of dark, steaming, _black_ coffee. He sat in his black robes, reading the _Daily Prophet_. Narcissa silently seated herself gracefully in a velvet-covered armchair. The servant; it wasn't a house-elf, it was a plain wizard, announced her presence, although she'd already entered.

"Madame Malfoy has entered the room, sir."

Lucius did not look up till then. When he looked up, he motioned for the servant to leave. Then he smiled to Narcissa. A chilling and horrific gesture. "Good morning, dear." The mocking sound. Always that mocking sound. Narcissa looked up, feeling almost nauseous.

"Good morning." Self composure. At least outward. Must not—Must not let him see discomposure.

She gathered herself together, and succeeded. She managed to look just as cold, and chilling, icily dangerous as Lucius. Something requiring the utmost concentration and accomplishment.

"_Darling_," Sarcasm. An art. Also her strongest defence. "Why are you reading the paper? After all, you do know _everything_ that is going on already. Must you _bother_ yourself by reading such a _stupid_ paper, that has fiction for its facts?"

Horrible creature. Ha. He didn't know what went on. He was only Voldemort's trusty little sidekick. He knew _nothing_ that Voldemort did not want him to know. No one but Voldemort—No, not even that… thing knew. She wouldn't swear about him. Not just yet. He had no worth, to be sworn of. Only Dumbledore knew all that went on. At least, he knew the most.

Lucius gave a cruel smirk. "Of course I do, _darling_." Oh. Sarcasm. Back to me. Too bad. For him of course. This is a game he _cannot_ win. Talk more, Lucius. It will only be worse off for you 

He did talk. "But I must see what these fools are writing, so as to see exactly _how_ far away from the truth, they are."

Narcissa gave him her coldest smile, reserved only for Lucius and when she, herself was asked to speak to Lord Voldemort, which was quite rarely. "Indeed."

Her wand lay on the table. A side table. How odd. She? Forget to take it with her to her rooms last night? Very odd.

Lucius looked to where Narcissa's eyes had wandered. He smirked again. "Yes, how odd, _dear_ Narcissa, that you disremembered to take your wand with you."

Narcissa realized now. This was a Dark Wand. Looking exactly like her wand, it lay there, beckoning respectable, magical people to use it. The instant it was touched, the desire for darkness was almost more than bearable. But once put down, this crave would die as instantly as it had sparked.

Narcissa's own wand was safely tucked in her secret drawer upstairs in her apartments. And Lucius knew it. At least, he knew that this was not her wand. 'But does he know that I know it?'

"Take it dear. It _is_ yours, is it not?" Lucius. Better not let him know. Dangerous.

"Of course dear, but it is _too_ dirty to _touch_. I shall have to pick it up with this napkin. And I must go back to my rooms and clean it. The filth covering it is most unbearable." And with that, she rose swiftly and walked out.

Upon reaching her rooms, she, with the napkin, broke the wand in half and put it in her collection. Many dark items lay there. All broken, so that an innocent person would not get hurt from it, if picked up unintentionally.

'Why in dear Merlin's name am I in this _horrible_ house? Apparation is the thing for me."

"Pop" and she was gone.


	2. Chapter Two

_*~mystikalolo~*_

**Disclaimer:** _The purpose of a disclaimer is to tell a reader who is the owner of what. However, there are some things that you know, without being told. This should be one of them. You know what J.K. Rowling owns. What she doesn't own, and what WB does not own… I do own._

_"I can talk, but no one can hear me."_

**Chapter Two (2)**

"Pop"

She was back.

"Damn, you Lucius!" she cried out. Her emotions had gotten the better of her. Not good. He had made all her apartments unapparatable. 

"You horrible scum, you! You piece of goddamn, nasty, filthy—"

"Tock Tuck" A knock. At the door. She wearily tried to compose herself and regain some of her cold attitude. When succeeding, she answered, "Who is it?"

"Adrolowus, Madame. Would you permit me to come in? I have your hot water." Oh. Only a servant.

"If you _must_." He came in, tray levitating next to him, then slowly lowered down to be set on a table. A short man, bald but for a fringe of grey. In black robes of course. With the Malfoy crest at left under neck. An M in red with gold chain twisting round it. The rest was all black.

There was too much black in the house. 'I must get away from it all.' Narcissa asked Adrolowus, "Could you tell me something, Adrolowus?"

"Permit me to say, ma'am, that I will say anything you so desire." Idiot. What an idiot. Cozening up to the male Malfoys might work, but this female Malfoy (Being one made her all the more unhappy) did not stand any such thing.

"Just answer with a simple yes or no. No one's asking you to do any more. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am" Good. 'He's dropped that stupid sickeningly kind attitude.'

"When did Mister Malfoy make my rooms unapparatable?"

Adrolowus was taken aback at such a straightforward question. "Well, Well—I mean—What I mean to say is—"

"What _do_ you mean to say?"

"Well…"

"Spit it out Adrolowus!"

"Mister Malfoy just did it last night, ma'am."

Be still. Show no anger. Be calm. "Oh? Last night? I see. Now Adrolowus, you must tell me one more thing. 

"Yes… yes Madame?"

"Just where exactly in this… thing… is there a room from which you can apparate from?"

"I cannot—I cannot answer that Madame Malfoy."

"And why not, pray tell, Adrolowus."

"It is—forbidden—by Mister Malfoy."

Narcissa smiled. No, not the smile of happiness. Not the smile of understanding. The smile of mirth. Unsatisfying, frightening, cruel mirth. A smile reserved for those she hated. And anyone under her _husband_'s brutal confidence, was an enemy, hated and despised by Narcissa.

"I see."

Adrolowus was surprised. The mistress of the house? Giving up without a fight? T'was truly unlike her. But he gave it up. She could see. He was ready to go back, when Narcissa stopped him.

"One more thing, Adrolowus. I want you to stand just two feet away from me, in that corner over there."

Surprised again. "Here, Madame?" He stood there and then, in a flash and nothing more, he was dropped to her knees, his face contorted with pain.

"Tell me, Adrolowus."

With his face, warped with throbbing misery, he gasped out an answer, "In Mister Malfoy's own apartments, Madame. Please—please—stop—"

Narcissa turned a cold face towards Adrolowus. She quickly muttered, "_Finite Incantem_." Then she said calmly, "Thank you, Adrolowus. That will be all."

Adrolowus picked up his things, his face still twisted, at the memory of the horrifying experience. As he was about to step out, Narcissa spoke again. "Adrolowus?"

He turned around fearfully, expecting the worst to befall him. "Y—yes, Madame?"

Narcissa looked at him, her stare piercing into his eyes. Then, in an almost inaudible whisper, "I am sorry."

And then he was dismissed. Had it been real? Or just a wishful figment of his imagination?

Narcissa closed the door, and wandered back and forth. Now she knew how to get out. Now she had a way to escape. Now she had just shown herself that she _could_ take matters into her own hands. Something, that had been necessary just months ago; something that had been absolutely impossible to do.

_*Flashback*_

Whispers were filling the halls. All the servants were sharing their stories, trying to learn as much as possible. Narcissa was used to it. This was a normal occurrence whenever Voldemort held a meeting at the Malfoy abode. Narcissa's face paled in disgust and fear, if it was possible to be any paler when you were already living in a world of terror.

'I wonder what cruel torture they plan to bring out next,' was the thought that came most frequently in her head. Just as she was to pass the door leading to the heavily guarded meeting room, the door opened. A tall man with dark drearily-coloured hair and a cruel thin-lipped smile, came out. He looked at Narcissa and beckoned with a bony hand.

"Narcissa."

It was but one word, yet it chilled her to the bone. "Yes Macnair?" Not Macnair, the executioner of the Ministry, but his cousin, Capicore Macnair. A man more powerfully scary than even the executioner.

"Come."

His one-word commands were more than enough to make Narcissa extra cautious. Of course, she knew not to resist. It would do no good. They would just kill her. And Narcissa was a selfish person. No surprise there. She'd discovered this years ago. No matter whose' side you are on in this war between evil and good, it did not affect your traits and manners. Narcissa did not want to die. She wanted to be safe. She did not care what she had to do to be safe. The only thing that got you anywhere in this world was selfishness. And she didn't have that before. So look where it got her. Now she was getting it. Slowly. Slowly. And just look. Just look where it _would_ get her.

She walked inside slowly. And then stopped.

What she saw was something she'd never been supposed to see. Ever again.

*~~**~~*

A/N: The flashback will be continued in Chapter Three (3).


End file.
